


Broken Promises For Broken Hearts

by thegrimshapeofyoursmile



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Character Study, Hate Sex, M/M, Violence, implied one-sided pynch, rovinsky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:23:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5219543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrimshapeofyoursmile/pseuds/thegrimshapeofyoursmile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s with me or against me, Lynch,” Kavinsky says and by now it sounds like a love song spun by a madman. The steering wheel is warm and safe underneath Ronan’s touch.</p><p>“I wanna fucking tear you apart,” he replies and rushes forward, loses himself in the smoke of the street and the darkness of the night, watching the white lights of Kavinsky’s Mitsubishi until they disappear from his sight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Promises For Broken Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what this is, but I find Rovinsky rather intriguing, so I decided to churn out a small oneshot. I wrote mostly with She Wants Revenge playing in the background, which is responsible for the title and probably the mood of the entire thing.

"Watch me, fag," Kavinsky says and Ronan does, stares at the red lights drifting into the night, stares until he cannot see them anymore, stares until he notices that his knuckles are white as snow around the steering wheel.

There is something hot and heavy in his belly. It would be easy to blame it on anger, but it would not be the truth.

////

Kavinsky is not a lie. Kavinsky is the easy way, the tempting way. Kavinsky is power and glory and a dance that never stops, a hunger that never ends, a hunger that Ronan can feel echoed in his own chest.

"Follow me," Kavinsky says and Ronan does, takes the pill and swallows it, takes another, takes many others, dreams and dreams and wakes up dried out, sweaty, with Kavinsky's fingers in his hair and a smile full of sharp teeth hurled into his face like a nightmare. 

There is a ladybug crawling up Ronan's index finger, a ladybug with a red and black pattern like a miniaturized Rorschach test. There is a moth fluttering through the car; Ronan watches it with half-lidded eyes as it flies against the windows, again and again, in some kind of trapped panic. 

"It's with me or against me, Lynch," Kavinsky says, his smile still as sharp as ever. There is something hot and heavy in Ronan's belly. It would be easy to blame it on the anger, but it would not be the truth. 

"Fuck you," he says. Kavinsky twists his face, twists his fingers in Ronan's hair, pulls on it sharply.

On Ronan's finger, the moth crushes the ladybug with all its might. 

///

“You know that we are animals,” Kavinsky says and drawls every syllable of his words as if he knew that it drives Ronan mad – he probably does and does it exactly out of that reason. Ronan wants to smash his face into his teeth. “You know that it is all chemistry, all encoded in our bodies.”

“Bullshit,” Ronan forces out and stares at the steering wheel, gripping it hard enough to turn his knuckles white, thinks of the possibilities, all the possibilities, while Kavinsky only laughs behind his sunglasses.

“You need me,” he says, and Ronan stares right ahead, thinks of many things and none at all, ignores the heat slowly creeping up from his legs into his belly and chest, into his neck, his tattoo, the back of his head.

“It’s with me or against me, Lynch,” Kavinsky says and by now it sounds like a love song spun by a madman. The steering wheel is warm and safe underneath Ronan’s touch.

“I wanna fucking tear you apart,” he replies and rushes forward, loses himself in the smoke of the street and the darkness of the night, watching the white lights of Kavinsky’s Mitsubishi until they disappear from his sight.

 

///

The truth is this: Kavinsky wants to be a dream, and so he lives his life as if it all was an endless dream, as if he was truly, utterly immortal. Ronan, trying to wake up every morning, trying to tell himself _this is real, this is my life, I am real_ , feels repulsed by it, and yet…

 _This is a dream_ , Ronan thinks as their lips clash together in something resembling a kiss, or maybe he also says it out loud because Kavinsky just laughs against his lips bloodied by the kiss, blooming in all the cruelty, and says, “No, it’s not. It’s not.” And he hates him for subverting their situation, hates him for the blood and hates him for his racing heart, his quickening breath, hates Kavinsky for the way Ronan’s body leans into him.  
The truth is this: Kavinsky is a thief and above everything else he robs Ronan’s ability to make good decisions. His fingers burn against Ronan’s tattoo; he wants to shove them away and instead sinks his teeth in to Kavinsky’s lower lip, hard. Kavinsky grunts and shoves, so Ronan pushed back because that is what he does, that is what he is supposed to do, and it is all good because they topple over crash onto the mattress. There are Kavinsky’s finger again, clawing their way into the tattoo, and Ronan’s throat is closed up and dry when he rips Kavinsky’s dirty shirt smeared with oil stains open and sends his buttons flying. Kavinsky laughs and it is not a pretty sound, but it still causes Ronan to shiver in an almost violent fashion. His head spins and he gasps when Kavinsky nudges his leg between his own, rubs his knee against his groin through the fabric of the jeans, and Ronan wants to hit him, wants to hit him, wants to hit him-

And yet, he falls. Spins closer into the poisoned space that is Kavinsky’s body and breath, his touches, the tender ones as well as the hurtful ones, and Ronan still wants to hurt him, but Kavinsky only laughs when Ronan tears him apart with his fingernails and leaves bloody crescents in his skin, laughs and laughs and laughs and laughs, and Ronan wants to hit him, moans underneath his touches instead and fumbles for his belt. Kavinsky is the darkness in Adam’s eyes. Kavinsky is the slight catch of breath in Gansey’s voice. Kavinsky is the dark smear on Noah’s cheek. Kavinsky is the fall from a windowsill. Kavinsky is the red pill and the blue one, and every single green pill as well.

Kavinsky is a thief, and he knows, he knows, he knows.

He is burning, slowly exploding from the inside, and it is a wild, untamed feeling he is ashamed of, he who should not be ashamed of anything, he who has nothing to lose and nothing to gain except this: Kisses, not bloody and bruised. Touches, not poisoned and possessed. Gazes, not hated and hurtful.

Ronan does not want him, and Kavinsky knows. He knows, he knows, he knows.

And still they come together like this – and it burns, burns him out like a car that caught fire. Ronan thinks of the darkness in Adam’s eyes when Kavinsky brings their cocks together in his hand, rubs and jerks and thrusts until Ronan can only gasp for breath he does not have, swear words on his lips that never leave them, even though Kavinsky knows that they are there and smiles at him with bloodshot eyes. He wants to hurt him and so he does, because there is nothing, absolutely nothing about Kavinsky that holds him back, and the fear closes his throat tight for a moment, but then he hits his back with his fists and claws at him, biting him hard enough to feel the blood spurt into his mouth, and Kavinsky laughs like the madman he is, gets off on it, the bastard, and Ronan is in too deep. 

///

He never stays, afterwards, but there is that one moment where they look at each other in the darkness, utterly silent and utterly black except for the small, red dot of the end of Kavinsky’s lit cigarette, and Ronan has that prickle in his neck that tells him that their eyes have met. It is never more than moment, nothing more than the bat of an eye, but it causes hornets to crawl up Ronan’s arms, hornets that never sting. 

“Life,” Kavinsky says after a long, long while and stomps out his cigarette, “Life is a fucking nightmare.”

Standing in the darkness, utterly silent and utterly black, Ronan can to nothing but agree.


End file.
